Rachel
by Lisa Rentahl
Summary: After several years away from the Mansion, Logan finally meets the newest member of the Summers' family.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Disclaimer: I do not own Xmen, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this fanfic.

After several years away from the Mansion, Logan finally meets the newest member of the Summers' family.

* * *

**Rachel**

* * *

The vision of the little red haired angel that fled at the sight of him, made his heart contract. She reminded him of how long he had been away, and of how things have changed since his absence.

He knew who the tyke's mother was, knew it too well, they both have the same vivid green eyes, and the same shade of hair color.

"Mommieeee." Cried the little girl, and crashed into the waiting arms of a smiling Jean Grey. Her little voice echoed in the vast marbled entrance hall of the Mansion.

"Aw Rachel, baby... what is it?"

From underneath her bangs, the five year old girl flashed an accusing look in Logan's direction, just as Jean lifted her daughter off the ground. When Jean caught the direction of her daughter's gaze she simply laughed. "Did the dark hairy man scare you?"

Rachel stuck her chin up in the air when she answered. "Daddy doesn't like him."

"Rachel that's not polite. That's your uncle Logan, and I'm sure he has a present for you."

The five year old's green eyes appraised Logan suspiciously.

"Hey pun'kin."

Logan approached mother and daughter. His hand moved over Rachel's head to stroke her hair. The little girl shook her head from side to side, her pigtails almost whipping Jean's face. She then buried her face in her mother's auburn mane.

"I'm sorry Logan, she's usually very social."

"It's okay." He said and thoughtfully examined the hand splayed on Rachel's small back. A diamond ring and a gold band encircled Jean's ring finger. He had, almost like reflex, subtly checked Jean out the second he laid eyes on her. He was not in the least surprised that motherhood added a different kind of sensuality to her figure and her aura. Part of him always knew Jean would gracefully ease into motherhood, a change that could only awaken another part of her to fall in love with.

God, how he envied Scott Summers.

His hazel eyes leveled to her gaze, and he smiled. "It's good to see you again."

He caught a hint of a blush from Jean's cheeks. "Likewise. Planning on staying long?"

"We'll see."

Jean was about to say something, when Rachel tugged her mother's hair. The little girl then peered into her mother's face with a scowl. She clearly disapproved of her mother conversing with the dark stranger.

Logan bit back an amused smile, little Rachel was proving to be a hellion. He started to wonder just how much grief she had caused Jean and Boy Scout when she turned two.

"Rachel," Jean's voice took on a warning tone.

The five year old's expression didn't change. The grip on her mother's hair only tightened.

"Logan."

Boy Scout reached the final steps of the ancient oak stairs. Face as stoic as Logan last remembered, ass probably still just as tight. He has no doubt it can produce a diamond if someone decided to stick a lump of coal up there. Maybe he can talk Bobby Drake into testing that little theory later.

"Daddy!" An unmistakable enthusiasm colored Rachel's voice. And she twisted her little body so that both her arms were outstretched towards Scott. Her tiny hands closing and opening like butterfly wings, impatiently anticipating her father's arms.

Scott took Rachel from Jean and her small arms wound tightly around the younger man's neck. Her little legs wrapped around his waist, as if she hadn't seen her father in a month. Logan half hoped Rachel's grip would cut off the circulation in Boy Scout's head.

_Daddy's little girl._

Scott's left arm braced his daughter while he settled his other hand on Jean's hip. The gold band on Boy Scout's finger, glinted in the filtered afternoon light.

"So are you back for good?" His voice was still formal and somewhat aloof.

"Still not sure, about that. I actually came here for help in locating someone."

"We're always glad to be of help one way or another."

Rachel's head twisted from Scott's neck, and when she caught Logan's eye, she stuck out her tongue at him and quickly hid back her face.

Logan raised an eyebrow at that, oh yeah paternity test aside that kid was definitely Summers'. She may look like a younger version of Jean but underneath, she simmered with the same dislike Boy Scout harbored towards him. He just didn't think of it, up till that moment, as something that could actually be inherited. Suddenly an amusing thought struck him, should he have kids of his own, would they also share the same dislike for Scott Summers and his descendants?

"Your old room is ready by the way. We'll let you settle in, and we can all catch up later." Jean said.

"Fine by me."

"Oh, and Logan," Jean said, as he walked past them. "Welcome back."

He smiled, and proceeded up the stairs.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thanks for all the reviews, I was pleasantly surprised that there were people who actually liked this. It started off as an exercise, so I listed it as a one shot, just to see what kind of a response it would get. But the scene is part of a story has been plaguing my brain. So the title will probably change in the future... as soon as one comes to mind.

This chappy will again have reference to Jean/Scott, and I will probably end up writing myself into a corner. Happy couples are the hardest to break up. So bear with me...

I am, and will always be a Jean/Logan shipper... for the record.

* * *

**Chapter 2**

* * *

As Logan entered the kitchen he was greeted with a warning.

"Logan watch out for... Rachel no!"

The alarm in Jean's voice would have been appropriate if she were alerting Logan of an oncoming aggressor that he hadn't seen. Or if she were warning him of incoming projectiles like bullets. It wasn't the tone one uses to warn him of thirty five pounds of girl, pig tails, and green eyes - even if the girl's intent was to crash into him.

"Rachel..." Jean managed as she moved from behind the granite counter. But the five year old already caught Logan's leg. She ran her hands down his jeans and pressed her face in the pant's leg. She quickly wiped her face with two swipes and darted off with a wicked giggle, before Logan realized what just happened.

The little brat smeared his jeans with what smells and looks suspiciously like grape jam.

"I'm so sorry Logan." Jean said, and she quickly knelt down with disposable kitchen towels to clean off the mess.

Logan's hazel eyes sought out the little trouble maker, and found her climbing up one of the stools beside the granite counter. When she was perched on top of the stool, Rachel's eyes met Logan's gaze. Her cheeks glistened with purple traces of jam, her little legs swung back and forth brushing the stool's legs. An innocent smile lit up her face but her eyes glittered with impishness. He could scent mischief on the kid too.

The little red haired demon intentionally used him as a serviette. And the kid wanted to make sure he knew that. If Rachel's behavior was any indicator of Summers' parenting skills, he may have to have a word or two with frat boy over an adamantium knuckle sandwich.

Logan turned his attention back to Jean, only to be acutely aware of two things. One, Jean was kneeling in front of him, which sparked off a fantasy; Jean in that exact position doing something far, far from innocent. And the other was that his traitorous body was beginning to respond to Jean's perfectly innocent touch.

Logan caught Jean's wrist and hauled her to her feet. His grip must have been a little too tight, because he saw her wince on the way up.

"It's alright darlin' I'll do that."

"But..."

Logan took the disposable towels from Jean. "Trust me, you don't wanna be doin' that."

He knew Jean was going to protest, so he gave her that non-negotiable look. She stared at him for a moment, shrugged then moved away while he continued with the the task of cleaning his jeans.

Convinced he wasn't going to get out anymore of the jam from this clothing, Logan straightened up and took a seat beside Rachel.

Jean was busy cleaning Rachel's face, and hands with a damp disposable towel like the ones he took from her. In front of Rachel was a plate with a sandwich, it had several nibbles around the edges. Beside the plate was a jar of grape jam with the jam spreader tossed aside.

The kid more than likely decided to eat the jam straight from the jar with her hands. Who the hell has been teaching the kid her table manners?

"Rachel, don't you have something to say to your uncle Logan?"

Rachel pushed the plate towards Logan. "Here's your sandwich."

"No, you're going to apologize little miss."

Rachel muttered. "I'm sorry for spreading jam on your pants."

"Apology accepted." Logan held out his hand to the five year old. "Friends?"

The little girl looked at Logan's hand then back up to his face. She didn't shake his hand but answered. "Okay."

"You can have your sandwich back."

"I don't like grape jam. I like peanut butter."

Logan turned to Jean.

"I made that sandwich for you, I thought you might be hungry. But Rachel here decided to nibble it even though she hates grape jam." Jean gave her daughter a stern look, who looked away guiltily. "I'm so sorry, again. I'll just make you a new one."

Jean reached out to take the plate.

"No, this one's fine." And he tore into the sandwich before Jean could say any more.

Jean's lips twitched in disapproval. Logan held her gaze and shook his head, silently telling her to let it go.

"Thanks for nibblin' off the edges pun'kin. How'd you know I don't like the crust?" And Logan leaned towards Rachel and nudged her shoulder.

"A lucky guess?" Came Rachel's weak reply.

_A sense of humor at five. We know which side of the gene pool that didn't come from._

"Well, aren't ya gonna eat with me?"

Logan heard Jean get up from the stool next to Rachel's. "I think I can help with that. In the meantime, why don't you show uncle Logan your birthmarks?"

Rachel rolled her eyes dramatically upward. "The stork bite and angel kisses mommy."

"Last week you called them birthmarks."

"But we always call them angel kisses and a stork bite."

"Alright, you win."

Logan heard Jean's voice in his head. _Last week, Hank came over to visit and she was trying to impress him._

_Was he?_

_She calls him her best friend. I think the feeling is mutual although Hank wouldn't openly admit to it.  
_

As Jean walked past Logan, her fingers gently brushed against the nape of his neck, and the touch traveled all the way to his shoulder. He shivered without intending to. And in tandem, his pulse doubled up in speed. Jean always had that talent for casually, almost absently, touching him where he was most vulnerable. He wanted to catch her hand, and kiss it. Kiss her.

Instead, Logan's gaze trailed after Jean as she headed for the refrigerator. He was still watching the statuesque telepath when he felt two little hands press against his side burns, turning his face, and forcing his attention back to the little red haired girl. Rachel had relocated herself from the stool onto the granite counter.

"Don't worry mommy will come back."

"I know."

"You were looking at her like you were worried she wasn't coming back."

Logan chuckled and he set down his sandwich on the plate. He then reached out, and scratched Rachel's scalp. "Show me where that stork bit ya pun'kin."

Rachel pointed to the nape of her neck. "It's right there, you can see it if you turn me."

He turned Rachel mindful to keep her from falling off the counter, and just beneath the hair line was a salmon colored birthmark shaped like an irregular rectangle. It didn't look anything like a bite mark, he wondered why they even called it that.

"Did you see?"

"Yeah I saw it."

Rachel turned to face him again. She pushed back her bangs, and pointed to a darker colored circular mark on her forehead. "See that? That's where the angel kissed me." She pointed to the bridge of her nose, and screwed her eyes shut. "And here. Do you see it?"

Logan leaned in closer, but couldn't see a birthmark on Rachel's nose; he only saw a spray of freckles.

"I only see freckles pun'kin."

Rachel opened one eye. "It's there."

Logan lifted Rachel off the counter, and sat her on the stool she'd been occupying earlier.

"Ray, it's probably worn off." Jean said from behind the counter. She slid a plate with a peanut butter sandwich, sliced diagonally without the crust, and a glass of cold milk over to the little girl.

Rachel frowned at the statement.

Jean leaned forward and caressed her daughter's cheek. "Don't worry honey, everyone knows you were kissed there. Even if they can't see it anymore."

A smile lit up Rachel's face.

"Why are the birthmarks called stork bites and angel kisses?"

Jean deposited a can of soda beside Logan's plate.

"It was Scott who first told the story. He said when the stork delivered Rachel to us it bit down a little too tightly on her neck. Rachel cried so loudly that an angel came down from heaven to see what was wrong. The angel took pity on Rachel's pain but the angel couldn't make the bite disappear. So to soothe Rachel, the angel kissed her once on the forehead, then on the nose because she was such a beautiful baby."

Logan understood. "Everyone kisses her on the bridge of the nose."

Rachel nodded in agreement while chewing on her sandwich.

"Think it's wise to fill the kid's head with fairy tales?"

"Logan, she's five. Fairy tales are a part of childhood."

"I just think fairy tales fills the kid's head with nonsense. That there's a prince charmin' around the corner with the magical solution to all problems. And we know that doesn't happen in real life."

"Rachel will learn about the real world in time. Ever heard of that quote; if you see the magic in a fairy tale, you can face the future?"

"Can't say I have Red. But I sure hope there's truth in that cause with the way things are turnin' out for us mutants..."

"I know Logan. I know." Jean sighed sadly. "I know I can't protect Rachel forever either, but for now - for now I can."

Jean leaned over to her daughter and caressed the bridge of her nose. And Rachel smiled.

Logan watched mother and daughter. And he found himself wanting to protect them both from every pain, hurt and disappointment the future might bring. He wanted to be the one to spare them that, and he suddenly found himself with a compelling reason to stay.

"Jean?"

"Yes."

"I'm glad we're okay. I mean, after I left... we weren't exactly friendly."

She reached out to hold his right hand. "That was a long time ago Logan. Besides, everything worked out in the end didn't it?"

"I suppose." He couldn't keep the tone of regret from his voice. And his left hand covered hers.

"Are you settled in okay Logan?" Scott stood at the kitchen entrance with Warren Worthington, code name Angel beside him.

Logan could smell and hear the annoyance in Summers' voice. He felt Jean pull her hand away from his, and he was vaguely sorry that she did. He wished he had a good excuse to just eject frat boy and tweety bird from the kitchen.

"Not yet, but I'm getting there."

"Daddy, I saved you a sandwich."

Scott approached Rachel and kissed the top of her head.

"Logan, good to have you back." Warren said and clapped him on the back.

"Worthington, I see you decided to sign up with the X-men after all."

Warren shrugged. "Well I wouldn't say that I'm all that active, more of consult really. Besides how could I refuse after I heard Scott's speech."

"About that consult..." Logan raised an eyebrow. "Summers does public speaking now?"

"Warren meant the welcoming speech Scott gives every year to the incoming students." Jean said. "Come to think of it hon, didn't Hank ask you to make a few public appearances?"

"Jean, you know I'm not comfortable in the spotlight."

Rachel waved the sandwich she saved for her father in the air in a bid for attention.

"Could be fun." Warren teased. "Every teenage mutant girl in America would have your face on their wall."

Logan and Scott cringed at the same time.

"Worthington, about that consult. Think you can call in a few favors for me?"

With the way the conversation was turning Logan was getting pretty nauseous, he had to slam the breaks somewhere.

"Sure, but I can't guarantee anything though."

"Could you pull a list of all the technology theft in the past three years? Both in the military and civilian sectors."

"I could."

"I thought you said you were trying to locate someone." Scott said, and took the sandwich from Rachel.

"This is the reason I'm tryin' to locate that person."

"Can't this discussion wait till after dinner, preferably in the war room when all teams are present?" Jean said.

"If yer referring to the junior team Red, they're gonna to be hammered by tomorrow morning. The girls decided to take me out to dinner, I'm sure that involves a few bar hoppin' sessions."

By the girls of course, Logan meant Jubilee, Kitty and Rogue. And by association, that naturally meant the rest of the junior team which comprised of Bobby, and Pete.

"They're teaching classes tomorrow." Scott said.

"It's only Drake who's teachin' an afternoon class tomorrow. Don't worry, I'll have them back in before the sun comes up. Don't wait up."

And Logan left the kitchen.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N:Thanks again to all who reviewed and are following this story. I am really sorry about the slow updates, I'm presently reviewing for my board exams. Advance apologies for the chappy being a little more serious than the previous ones, and for not including little Rachel in it... believe me I had no idea how to write her in this chappy don't know if it would have worked with her in it anyway.

I almost felt guilty at the idea of pulling apart Jean and Scott after Ranko's review (btw are you a Jott shipper? I'd really like to know... kinda got that impression from your review. Not that I'd come after ya with a pitchfork or anything of the sort hehehe). Of course, _almost _being the operative word...

For those who are following A Place Called Home, I am also sorry about the delay in updates for that story. For some reason my muse has chosen to come up with blanks for scenes in that one... but it hasn't been abandoned. Now might be a good time to ask if any of you would like to be my beta...

* * *

**Chapter 3**

* * *

It was a good thing Elizabeth 'Betsy' Braddock, codename Psylocke borrowed Rachel for her opinion in dresses for her date with Warren later that evening. The last thing Jean wanted was for Rachel to think that it's acceptable to misbehave around Logan just because Scott has issues with the feral mutant.

Of course Scott waited until Logan and the junior team left for dinner before he started. He couldn't afford to let Logan's hyper senses pick up on the fact he was the source of their little "talk".

After six years of agreeing to never go to bed angry with each other, Logan would most probably prove to be the deal breaker. Logan's habit of breaking the rules was beginning to rub off them in more ways than one, Jean thought sourly.

"If I hadn't walked in I'm sure he'd have his hands on your ass." Scott was pacing across the bedroom of their suite in the Mansion.

"It wasn't like that. He wanted to clear the air between us." Jean was getting a headache from watching her husband's movements as she sat on the edge of their king sized bed.

"That's the other thing why are you determined to let him be a part of our family, its not like he gave a damn for six years. Not a call, a letter – nothing. And as soon as he walks in you welcome him like a long lost relative."

_Oh please, as if Logan's absenteeism really upset you..._

"What did you want me to do? Tell him he isn't welcome or that he isn't allowed to talk to Rachel?"

"Reminding him that you're married and to keep his paws to himself would have sufficed."

"I told you..." She sighed in frustration, she was repeating herself. She knew Scott was not even listening to her explanation because he's set his mind on one scenario alone. And if her words were not going to fit with his conclusion they was going to go around in circles till it finally did.

She tried another approach. "Scott where's all this coming from?"

"I don't trust him."

Jean couldn't help but snort. "You've never trusted him but this is the first time you're acting like this."

"I'm glad to see you think I'm being ridiculous about this." He stopped pacing and glared at her. She could feel his eyes boring into her from behind the ruby visors. "I never understood why you always felt the need to defend him. Even now."

"Are you jealous?"

She immediately felt his mental shields go up.

"No," he said his voice taking on a tense tone. "I told you. I don't trust him, with you or my daughter."

He simply had to call Rachel his daughter as if she were property. This was so unlike him, even for his occasional lapses into insanity.

"For someone who is so tolerant of the hatred of strangers, it still amazes me you can't extend that same tolerance towards someone you know, a team mate none-the-less."

"Former team mate." Scott corrected. "And the reason that I don't tolerate him is because I do know him. I know his kind, and he's not to be trusted. Jean, you of all people should know that."

She flinched. _He isn't going to bring that up is he?_

"You're not upset because he was holding my hand, you're upset because Logan and I reconciled."

She could see Scott's jaw tighten at her words, his nostrils flared. And she knew, despite the raised mental shields that she was right.

But why wouldn't he want that?

"Scott is it so terrible for all of us to get along? Don't you think its about time to start with a clean slate and forget the past? If I can make peace with it why can't you?"

Scott strode towards the nightstand, and he picked up the brown folder on it. Warren had earlier given Scott two folders both containing copies of Logan's list. The second copy was Scott's to do as he pleased.

"Look," he said his voice cold. "You do what you want, but don't expect me to make nice with him. And if I don't like the way he looks at you, don't blame me for blasting him out on the lawn. Grass needs fertilizing anyway."

"Where are you going?" She stood up from the edge of the bed as he turned away from her.

But he was already shutting the door to their room, a few seconds later she heard the door to their suite open and then close.

Scott was angry, that was a given. But she caught something else on his way out. Something he was trying to hide from her.

It was fear.

XxX

Sneaking around at four in the morning was not something Scott Summers was proud of. And he knew without a trace of doubt that what he had been doing for the past hour would most likely earn his wife's wrath. A distant voice in his head buzzed that he should be worried.

He was trying to re-establish a video link with the Maker, the mutant inventor otherwise known as Forge. Scott stared at the computer screen in his office, fascinated by the animated bar that burned a semi-permanent image in the back of his skull flashing the message 'trying to reconnect'.

The first time the message appeared he was hopeful. By the fifth time it appeared, he accused the computer of being a sadistic liar. By the eighth time the message appeared, he could barely control his fingers from flying to his visor and blasting the damnable machine out of the window. By the tenth time he was hypnotized by the animated bar, hoping that there was indeed truth to its promise of 'trying to reconnect', even if it obviously was not 'trying' hard enough...

Scott concluded that he abhorred dial-up connections. His initial worry of the ten page data taking half a day to download from Forge's end might not be so far fetched after all. Thank god for old fashioned reliable fax.

Renting out the only beach side villa in Cape Town, South Africa with a dial-up connection was the brainchild of Jean and Ororo. And as Scott discovered the villa was outside the coverage range of cellulars when he tried to reach Forge's number earlier. This exercise in isolation couldn't have been better planned if Forge and Ororo paddled themselves halfway to Antarctica.

God knows both he and Forge, argued to Jean and Ororo that should an emergency come up, dial-up was not the medium either of them wanted to communicate through.

In response, Jean and Ororo looked at each other, and without missing a heart beat, Jean flipped open her cell phone and reserved the villa right there and then. It only confirmed what he had always suspected about his wife and her best friend, that they did not trust their significant others to go on a vacation without succumbing to the overwhelming urge to check up on the Mansion.

Okay so maybe, last year on his vacation he had been a little too concerned with Forge's modifications on the Blackbird. In his defense, he was only online with Forge during the evenings, when Jean was supposed to be asleep. Forge obligingly gave him detailed accounts of the modifications, which they discussed at great lengths - it was the Blackbird after all.

The downside of course, he wanted to sleep during the day because their discussions ran well into the wee hours of the morning. He's certain that it's the memory of that vacation that inspired Jean to warn him – no, threaten him. He was not to disturb either Ororo or Forge during their vacation under pain of death.

The eleventh attempt to reconnect was the charm.

"You realize this favor qualifies as work don't you?" Forge said as soon as their video conference resumed.

"I am. I was going to ask for your expertise in this matter anyway. Just thought it was better to have this conversation when it was more convenient for you."

It was almost noon in Cape Town according to the world clock he'd goggled.

Forge nodded in silent agreement. "I guess its a good thing that 'Ro and I decided to have lunch back here instead of going out."

"How is 'Ro?"

Forge's head suddenly turned to his left, and he answered. "You can ask her yourself."

Scott's forehead furrowed in concern, he hoped 'Ro's control of the weather – or lightning – didn't span over continents.

Ororo beamed as her face appeared on the screen. "Hello Scott. How is everyone back there in the Mansion?"

Thank god, she sounded genuinely glad to find him online.

"Pretty much the same since you left. By the way, Logan's back."

"Goddess be blessed, that's wonderful news has he come back for good?"

"He hasn't said anything definite."

"Are Jean and Logan finally speaking to each other?"

Scott pursed his lips in a thin hard line. He felt white heat burning in his chest, as the memory of Logan holding Jean's hand in the kitchen rushed to the fore.

_Speaking to each other?_

He's certain Logan's definition of 'speaking' boiled down to several of rounds of tonsil hockey with Jean. Does he have to put a power drill through Logan's thick adamantium skull to make him understand that Jean already made her choice?

Couldn't he have the common sense to just move on, and prey on some random, younger woman after six years? There couldn't possibly be a shortage of auburn haired, available women in the world. Or the unavailable ones for that matter.

He began to itch for a reason to blast Logan's sorry carcass back to what ever decade he hailed from.

"And why wouldn't they be talking to each other?"

Ororo cheeks visibly reddened, and her blue eyes blinked with obvious surprise.

Scott mentally berated himself, 'Ro didn't deserve to have her head bitten off like that. Is it always going to be like this every time Logan comes crashing back into their lives?

"Well, it would be a shame if I missed him due to my vacation. I do hope he will still be there when we get back." Ororo's voice remained polite and without heat.

Before Scott could apologize for his outburst, Forge spoke.

"What exactly am I looking for in this list Scott?"

"I was hoping you'd tell me. Does anything there stand out as unusual or strange? It's the list Logan asked Warren to put together."

"Who is this Logan?"

And it was the wind rider who provided the answer. He could see Forge listening intently as he took in a brief history of who Logan was. Scott couldn't hear all that the weather goddess said, but he caught a few words.

"Did Logan say why he needed this list?" Forge returned to Scott.

"We haven't really discussed anything as of now. He only said he was trying to locate someone, in relation with technology theft over the past three years. Though I doubt all of the thefts on that list are the work of one person."

"You can say that again, some of the items here are actually obsolete, I have a hard time imagining it would be of much use to anyone. I pity the newbie who went through the trouble of stealing them in the first place. The poor sucker probably didn't know the first thing about technology or espionage."

"Anything else?"

"Well, there are at least two things here that could be used in nuclear warfare."

"Maybe sold to terrorists?" Scott offered.

"Yeah, it could swing that way. Might even be worth a bidding war. Is this the whole list?"

"No, I'm still trying to fax you the rest. It's ten pages, by the way."

He caught Forge's look of distaste, even the fax machine was acting up. For the last hour, Forge managed to receive five pages, the rest of the documents insisted on coming out as garbled junk. The slow connection and the temperamental fax was grinding Forges' patience to nil.

"So far that's all I got, I'll try calling you back after I get a good look at this."

Scott smiled. "Thanks Forge, really means a lot to me you're doing this."

"No rest for the wicked."

"'Ro enjoy the rest of your vacation. By the way, do you want to leave a message for anyone back here?"

"I think it's in your best interest I do not leave one..." And she laughed.

The memory of Jean's warning echoed in his head - _I'll skin you alive Slim._

"Right. I'll talk to you later then Forge."

"Bye."


	4. Chapter 4

AN: Okay for those who are still following this story here is chapter 4. Sorry for the delay guys. Will try to update my other story as well :D

* * *

If there is one thing that Jean learned from history it's that peace is always achieved with a hearty meal. Treaties and peace agreements were signed over meals. So why wouldn't that premise work for her predicament with Scott and Logan? At least she hoped it would because otherwise, she wasted the better part of her Saturday morning for nothing.

A brief cursory glance around the kitchen, and a mental checklist kept her on track.

Raisin scones baking in the oven, check.

Orange yogurt and raspberry butter chilling in the refrigerator, check.

Potato basil frittata cooling on the breakfast table, check.

Homemade granola in a glass bowl on the breakfast table, check.

And Rachel's favorite, buttermilk pancakes.

If Ororo were back at the Mansion, Jean would have talked to her about her latest problem with Scott. But since the weather goddess was on vacation, she had to resort to her other source of comfort – cooking. So, in the early hours of the morning, with only thirty minutes of sleep, she went down to the kitchen and started to prepare for breakfast.

She left Rachel asleep in their suite, and kept tabs on her telepathically in case she awoke without either of her parents in the room. She took the baby monitor out of storage for good measure and kept a watchful eye on it the entire time.

Ironically Jean discovered cooking while pregnant with Rachel. In the beginning it was a skill that she was force to learn out of necessity. During the early part of Jean's pregnancy, she developed a hyper sense of smell that made every food item revolting. By the time she neared the end of her first trimester Jean was severely underweight and her diet was reduced to Saltine crackers, bottled water, and a regular IV drip of vitamin B.

One afternoon, during her weekly run of vitamin B IV drip – which was abnormal even for mutant pregnancies, according to Dr. Moira McTaggert - and munching on a packet of crackers, Jean contemplated her options. Starve or try to find a way around her pregnancy induced hyper sense of smell. She chose the latter and the rest they say is history.

Jean cracked an egg into the glass bowl while Rachel peered into it, her stubby fingers curled on the rim possessively. Even without the benefit of a gentle mental probe she could already tell why her daughter who was perched beside her was wiggling in her stool.

"Can I beat the eggs?" Rachel's smile was candied sweetness; her green eyes were all hope.

"Do you remember what happened last time sugar plum?" It was necessary to call Rachel by an extra sweet term of endearment when it came down to coaxing and persuading.

"But I'm a big girl now. And I'll be careful." Rachel said this with conviction as if her latest prepping disaster hadn't been but a week ago.

"You spilled eggs all over your uncle Hank."

A sheepish look crossed Rachel's face, she bowed her head and her shoulder length red hair covered her face like a curtain. But her voice remained strong and confident. "I told him I was sorry. And he said it was all right. And uncle Hank is not here. Can I _please_ cook my green eggs?" She tilted her head ever so slightly so that one eye was peering up to her mother. It was Rachel's version of puppy dog eyes, a look that almost always dissolved even the hardest of resolves.

Why did it always come down to an arm wrestling match of wills with Rachel and her? If it had been Scott who told her she could not cook breakfast, Rachel would happily go along with it.

_Scott..._

Jean glanced at her watch.

_Eight o'clock._

Still not back from his morning jog. She was in the middle of setting up the breakfast table when she glanced outside the adjacent window and spied dark clouds looming in the ashen sky. _If he isn't back soon he'll be caught in the rain._ And he's doing a very good job in mentally blocking her out. No doubt still fuming from yesterday's kitchen incident.

"Please?" Rachel repeated, taking Jean's pause before answering as a sure sign her mother was considering her request.

"Tell you what, I'll let you poke the egg yokes -"

Rachel's pink lips turned into a pout, a scowl forming on her face.

"And," Jean parted the curtain of hair from her daughter's face. "I'll let you add the blue coloring to your eggs."

"Don't you trust me?"

Jean's lips quirked. Warren will be glad to know his goddaughter's natural flare for negotiating will make her a strong future candidate for Worthington Law Offices.

"Jean just let her cook. By the time Rachel hits puberty you'll be lucky to get her to even talk to you." A rich voice with a distinct English accent said.

Betsy Braddock glided into the kitchen in a royal blue silk robe that flowed around her like a cape. The matching nightdress underneath - which could have been easily mistaken for a slip dress with the way Betsy carried it - shimmered with her movements. The British born mutant always looked as if she'd just stepped out of a photo shoot.

_Without a single strand of ebony hair out of place_, Jean mused.

It wasn't any wonder that whenever Rachel's gaze locked on Betsy, her green eyes twinkled and grew wider, her mouth falling slightly ajar. To Rachel, Betsy was the equivalent of an Asian Barbie doll come to life.

Jean was suddenly self-conscious of how unfashionable and ordinary she looked in an apron and work clothes. "Spoken like someone who doesn't have to clean up after."

Betsy flashed Jean an innocent smile. "Good morning to you too."

"Aunt Betsy, I'm making green eggs." Rachel chimed and pointed proudly to the glass bowl in front of her.

Betsy's manicured hand swept back her shiny waist length hair. "That's lovely dear." She turned to Jean. "There's a story about green eggs and ham, isn't there? What was it called?"

Rachel laughed as if Betsy were asking what color is the sky, and quickly answered before Jean could. "Green eggs and ham, silly."

"Dr. Seuss." Jean mock whispered to Betsy.

The English telepath leaned forward and reached out to playfully pinch Rachel's cheek. "Right, silly me. But I thought you don't eat ham?"

Rachel sat up straight, head held high up. "It's only pretend ham."

Betsy settled in behind the granite counter on one of the counter stools across from Rachel. "Has she been like this after watching that movie with the talking pig?"

Jean nodded then handed a fork to Rachel and mimed for the little girl to only poke the egg yokes. "_'If it has a face it shouldn't be on your plate'_…" Jean repeated Rachel's mantra. "Isn't that right honey?"

Rachel frowned at her mother, and with a barely concealed huff proceeded with her task, not at all happy that she wasn't allowed to scramble the eggs.

"I have no idea where Rachel picks up these things," Jean shrugged, "Bottom line, pork is no longer on the menu."

Betsy let out a low chuckle. "So who ended up burying breakfast in the garden? Was it Scott or Warren?"

Jean smiled with a little shake of her head upon recalling the incident from six months ago. "It was both of them actually. Rachel stopped crying only when Scott promised to bury the bacon in the garden, complete with a eulogy and a grave marker."

Betsy looked over at Rachel, who was busy stabbing the egg yolks.

Without even probing her surface thoughts Jean could guess that Betsy was wondering how Rachel manages to twist Scott – stoic, no nonsense, leader of the X-men – around her finger. Scott, a staunch disciplinarian at heart, whose resolve always crumbled when it came to Rachel. Something Jean found at times bordered on spoiling the five year old.

"I'm sure Rachel oversaw the whole proceedings to keep the boys honest."

Jean answered with a smile, because that was exactly what her daughter did. "So..." She drawled. "Has Warren proposed yet?"

Scott accidentally let slip that Warren bought a violet diamond engagement ring for Betsy. A month later, much to the distress of the Asian woman, there wasn't evidence of the ring's existence or the mental hint of a proposal.

Betsy groaned, and dropped her head on her folded forearms. "No." Came the muffled reply.

Jean gave a sympathetic pat on Betsy's shoulder, and settled a mug of coffee in front of her to in an attempt to soothe the sting of disappointment. "I'm guessing Rachel's choice of dress didn't really work to your advantage then."

"Of course not." Betsy's almond shaped eyes peeked up at Rachel. "You were right dearest, your uncle Warren loved the purple dress." _Loved it so much, he couldn't wait to tear if off me. _Betsy communicated telepathically to Jean.

Jean raised an eyebrow in approval, impressed that her daughter's fashion sense even at an early age would prove quite useful.

Rachel, unaware of the telepathic statement, patted Betsy on the head, and gave her a smile. "Uncle Warren always says you look pretty in purple."

_Date wasn't a total disaster then._ Jean flashed a knowing smile at Betsy. _So is Mister Worthington still recovering from your 'physical exertions' last night?_

Betsy deadpanned at Jean. _I could be asking you the same of Mister Summers' whereabouts. But no, if you must know, Warren had to leave early for a business meeting in Auckland._

Jean's forehead knotted. "New Zealand?" Count on Warren to put a whole new spin to 'leaving early for a business meeting'.

Betsy shrugged. "Something about a partnership with a telecommunications company. Details are boring as always." She brought the mug of coffee to her lips.

"When will he be back?"

Betsy sighed. "Three days... I'll be back in London by then."

"Patience, its probably just a matter of bad timing. Warren has too much on his mind right now with the company's expansion." Jean telekinetically willed the coffee mug at the espresso maker to her, then added a touch of milk and a teaspoon of brown sugar.

"Maybe that ring wasn't really for me." Betsy sighed. "Scott could have been wrong."

"Betsy, I'm sure it's nothing like that." She took a sip of her coffee and wondered if Betsy's pessimism stemmed from the former's profession as an assassin.

"Do you know what date it's going to be in a fortnight?" Betsy's almond eyes were fixed on her mug of coffee, whilst absently tapping the mug's rim with her index finger. She didn't even seem to be listening to Jean.

"Don't do that, don't buy into the image the tabloids paints of Warren, you know better than anyone they only print distorted versions of the truth to sell."

There was a pause. And when Betsy spoke her voice was flat, a pained look painted on her face, her eyes never leaving her mug of coffee. "We're going to be officially together for two years in a fortnight..."

The senior X-Men associated Warren's surname with the multibillion-dollar company known as Worthington Labs. It only came to their attention - thanks to Jubilation Lee's zealous following of tabloid news - that there was another less flattering name the paparazzi had attached to Warren.

The Two-Year Worthington Itch.

Several years before Warren joined the X-men the tabloids baptized him with the term after an unfortunate dating mishap with a notorious socialite/actress. Despite the fact Warren adored the socialite/actress the constant strain of the media scrutinizing every aspect of their relationship eventually took its toll on the both of them. The last months leading up to their much publicized, soap opera worthy breakup, involved rumors of a third party.

At the height of the breakup frenzy the socialite/actress stated – out of obvious spite – that Warren suffers from a compulsive polygamous itch that needs to be scratched on a regular basis, and any romantic entanglement with Mr. Worthington III had the shelf life of two years. Of course it did not help Warren's cause that his dating track record reflected some truth in the socialite/actress' slander. And Warren was quick to point out to Scott and Jean that he'd dated a girl named Candy Southern back in college for two and a half years.

Scott could not resist commenting to Jean that the six-month difference probably had everything to do with the girl's name, which sounded suspiciously like a stripper's stage persona.

The expansion of Worthington Labs couldn't have come at a worst time. No wonder Betsy was getting paranoid.

"Maybe its for the best, I mean where would we live right? My whole life is back in London, and I'd miss my niece and nephew too much if I moved. While Warren's family business is right here. He'd never leave New York."

"You're wrong. Warren loves you, and I know he intends to marry you."

Betsy's eyes met Jean's. "If he did he would have proposed a month ago. When Scott finally decided to ask you to marry him, I doubt he put it off for a month." Betsy's eyes shifted momentarily to the kitchen entrance, before she quietly slipped off the stool without waiting for Jean to answer.

Jean's forehead knotted. Her confusion was cleared soon enough.

"Mornin' Jean." A low, gravelly male voice said. It was followed by a maroon flannel shirt, wild dark hair and a swaggering walk of pure attitude.

Jean immediately noted the cheerful look – or the closest approximation of it – on the feral mutant's face. It was plain to see his night out with the junior team went well. _At least someone had a good time._ "Coffee, Logan?" Without waiting for his answer, she telekinetically opened a cupboard and moved a blue mug to the espresso maker. "It's still black, with two teaspoonful of sugar right?"

Logan paused momentarily mild surprise registering on his features. "Yeah. Thanks Jeannie." He gave her an appreciative smile, and settled on the stool right across from where she sat behind the counter.

Betsy returned to her seat with the morning paper in hand then started to unfold it. "Good morning Logan." She barely glanced in his direction.

He turned his head and gave a brief nod to the English telepath. "Braddock."

Betsy took a sip from her coffee, whilst scanning the front-page story. "My telepathy must be off," The English mutant said this to no one in particular. "I didn't even catch Logan thinking about coffee."

Jean was grateful for the paper that served as a distraction for Betsy. It saved her from explaining why her cheeks were burning with color. In the background the old espresso maker hummed to life.

"So Bets, you know Logan?"

The English telepath nodded from behind the morning paper. "Warren introduced us last night. I barely caught his name with Jubilee, Kitty and Rogue hustling him out of the front door."

"How was dinner Logan, oh wait… Do I want to know how hung over the junior team are?" Jean ventured steering the conversation in another direction. She slipped off the stool she'd been sitting on to fetched Logan's coffee from the espresso maker.

"You're gonna have to ask them yourself. Jube's college friend hijacked them all to some new club which sounded like a flower or a color -"

Betsy looked up from her paper. "Lavender?"

"That's the one."

"They abandoned you in the middle of dinner?" Jean returned to the counter and quietly stirred in two teaspoonful of sugar in Logan's coffee before pushing it towards him.

Logan gave a small nod of thanks to Jean.

Betsy returned to her paper and stated. "It's really hard to get in that club..." Jean wasn't exactly sure if the comment was offered as an acceptable excuse for the junior team ditching Logan.

"You let them abandon you?"

"They didn't abandon me." Logan waved a hand in the air. "They ought to be hangin' around people their own age anyway. I told them to go."

Logan didn't turn in early, Jean was sure of that, which only meant he found more pleasurable company for the rest of the night. The thought stabbed and twisted at something dark and dormant in her heart. "I'm sure you found other ways to keep yourself preoccupied," she smiled, but her facial muscles felt heavy and awkward with the effort. "Westchester is just brimming with trash life."

Betsy looked up from her paper with a raised eyebrow.

Logan's raised mug of coffee paused in mid-air, a confused look written on his face. "Trash life?"

Jean bit the inside of her cheek and silently cursed herself for the Freudian slip. Without even realizing it her voice immediately jumped to defensive. "I said 'night life'." But she refused to meet Logan's eyes.

"Actually it did sound like-" Betsy interjected.

"No, Jean's right." Logan answered quickly cutting off Betsy. His gaze now fixed on his mug of coffee, a hard look set on his features. "I heard her wrong." For a brief unguarded moment Logan broadcasted the stab of hurt at Jean's implication. He quickly recovered, locking down his mind and emotions.

But it wasn't done fast enough, and just as easily as Jean had picked up on his hurt, she knew Betsy had done the same. Jean could almost see the shift in Betsy from disinterest in Logan, to a flickering curiosity. It dawned on Jean the English telepath was oblivious of her history with Logan.

"Are you married Logan?" Betsy began whilst neatly folding the morning paper.

"No." Ice creeping into the feral mutant's voice.

"Never been?" Betsy settled her right cheek in her palm, as she leaned in closer to Logan.

"No." Logan took a long deliberate sip from his mug of coffee; he wasn't even glancing at Betsy.

_Betsy, don't._ Jean telepathically warned.

The Asian woman's brown eyes flicked to Jean, a devilish glint lighting her features. _When Warren said Scott and Logan didn't get along, I had no idea you were the reason. _

_It's a difference in personalities – I've nothing to do with it._

Betsy's expression told Jean the English mutant wasn't swayed. "You know Logan, I was going through Scott and Jean's wedding pictures the other day, and I don't think you were in any of the photos. Weren't you invited?"

Jean decided that she would strangle Betsy after breakfast. "Of course he was invited. Why wouldn't we invite him?" She silently prayed Logan would go along with the charade.

Logan's grip around his coffee mug tightened, and his eyes shifted to Jean.

Jean couldn't place the look on Logan's face – was it anger or hurt or both?

Betsy smiled sweetly, and Jean felt a chill go down her spine. _Is that the way Betsy smiles when she goes in for the kill? _

"I'm sure Scott was disappointed you couldn't make it." Betsy continued.

Logan snorted. "I'm sure he was."

"You will be here when Scott and Jean renew their vows, won't you? It's an annual tradition that they do on their wedding anniversary."

"Yeah." With a sharp scrape of the stool Logan got up, taking with him his mug of coffee, without another word he made his way out the kitchen.

Jean glared at the Asian woman. _Having fun Bets?_

Betsy arched an eyebrow. _Oh for god's sake_ _lighten up Jean; I was just making conversation._

Jean's eyes narrowed. _It sounded more like an interrogation._

Betsy rolled her eyes heavenward. _Fine, whatever then maybe you can answer me a couple of questions._

_Haven't you done enough?_

_Like, _Betsy's telepathic voice was unperturbed. _Did you dump tall, dark and feral for Scott? Because not showing up at your wedding has jealous ex-boyfriend written all over it._

Jean raised an eyebrow. _Been watching soap operas much Bets?_

Betsy's expression remained serious. _He gives off this vibe of wanting nothing better than decapitating Scott. I know I'm right._

Jean's face was blank as she stared back at Betsy.

_Look, if you slept with him –_

_Can we NOT get into this now? Or ever._

Betsy let out a huff. _You really should let him know you're no longer available._

Jean looked at Betsy as if she'd grown a third head. _Isn't that already obvious?_

Betsy smiled gently. _Not to him…_ She paused. _ Or to you for that matter._

"Bang!" The loud voice was punctuated with an equally loud dull thump.

Jean's heart jumped in her chest at the sound, and for a split second she was sure the sound was meant to call her out. _Rachel. _She glanced where Rachel was last seated, only to find the bowl of eggs abandoned.

"Bang!" This time Rachel's voice was louder.

Jean intercepted the five-year-old girl, who'd relocated herself to the breakfast table unnoticed until now. Much to the horror of the auburn haired telepath, Rachel's right hand was pressed down a stack of pancakes.

"What are you doing?" Jean's voice was sharp she started to make her way towards the little girl.

Rachel nearly jumped at the tone of Jean's voice, her face turning in time to see her mother yanking her right hand away from the pancakes.

"What have I told you about playing with your food?"

"Decorating, not playing."

Great, now Rachel was picking up bad habits as well. "Rachel what have I told you about lying?"

"Am not lying, decorating mommy."

"Then what is that supposed to be?" She motioned towards the squashed blueberries on the pancake with the little girl's palm print.

"Bullet holes."

"What?"

"Bu-"

Behind her Jean heard the unmistakable sound of Scott's optic blast firing. She spun around in time to see Logan sailing past the kitchen entrance down the hall, followed by a thunderous crash of glass, wood and metal.

"The hell…?" Betsy managed out loud, and slipped off the counter stool.

Scott wasn't too far behind, as he ran past the kitchen entrance.

_God, what now?_


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Thanks once again to all who reviewed. Please bear with me with the slow updates, so here's chapter 5. Feed back is most welcome :D

* * *

Chapter 5

* * *

Damn Braddock for sticking her nose where it didn't belong.

And damn Jean too for forcing him to lie. He wasn't invited to the wedding, so what? It's not like he would have attended anyway. He'd always known Jean would choose Scott in the end. He didn't have to be at the ceremony to know that. _Watch them renew their vows? When hell freezes over._ Just because he'd agreed to put the past behind, didn't give Jean the right to stick the blade and twist it.

And if Jean wanted to fool Braddock into thinking her husband is anything but an unrepentant dick that was her business. She should know better than to try and rope him in on that con. _Boy Scout can play the perfect husband and father all he wants but I ain't buying his act for a second. _ Logan could feel his knuckles burn.

Before he rounded the corner that would lead him to the main entrance hall and the stairs, a familiar scent assaulted him like he'd been thrown against a brick wall.

_Summers._

Judging from the smell and the tell tale signs of sweat on his black running vest with the school's logo, Scott just finished his morning run. He was on the phone and when he saw Logan, his expression remained the same. But Logan could smell the sudden shift in Scott, the same smell as yesterday when the younger man caught him holding Jean's hand.

"Call me back in ten, I have to take care of something first." And with that Scott snapped his phone shut.

Logan carefully settled his mug of coffee on the hallway table. He pulled out a cigar from the front pocket of his flannel shirt. If he couldn't get into a fistfight at this time of the day, second best thing is to get Summers all bent out of shape about the non smoking policy in the school. "Say Cyke, you wouldn't happen to have a light on ya?" He smirked, daring Fearless Leader to get in his face.

Scott tilted his head to right, his lips pursed. His right hand rose to his visor, then the low roar of his optic blast sounded.

The crimson beam slammed into Logan's chest like a freight train and sent him flying. He sped down the hallway, right through the French windows in a thunderous crash of glass, wood and metal. In mid-air the back of his head collided against something large and immovable, he hit the lawn with a dull thud face down. His momentum slowed, but he skidded a few seconds longer before he came to a halt.

Logan lifted his head and spat out bitter tasting dirt. He cracked his neck with a low growl before he picked himself up. His chest and neck ached, as if all the bones were broken. His face stung from the abrasions, but his healing factor was taking care of that already. He tossed aside the ruined Cuban. _If Summers was aiming for the cigar, he's cross-eyed behind those damned visors. And ruining a perfectly good Cuban - not okay!_

Logan's eyebrows were drawn, lips compressed in a thin, hard line. _'Shoot first and ask questions later' is my style._ It might have been interesting if Scott had pulled it on one of the Brotherhood boys, amusing if he'd used it during a training session in the Danger Room. And because Logan was on the receiving end of the shooting, he wasn't anything other than pissed.

Scott stood on the other side of the shattered windows, his jaw set, fingers already on his visor.

Their gazes momentarily locked.

Logan dropped into a crouching stance. As much as he wanted to gut Scott that very instant, he didn't unsheathe the claws. Making Jean a widow and Rachel an orphan wasn't on his to-do list. _At least not today. _He's pretty confident he can teach Fearless Leader a lesson or two with his bare hands.

A crimson blast shot at Logan and he dove out of its path. That pretty much nuked any lingering doubt Scott was aiming for his cigar.

Logan's heart rate kicked up. He rolled back up on his feet, the sharp points of his claws digging into the back of his knuckles barely beneath the skin. He gritted his teeth, and fought for control over the anger that was close to boiling into rage. He could hear the shouts of alarm from inside the Mansion. Jean and Betsy were probably scrambling to end their little scuffle.

_No ones breakin' this up till I have my say too._ He lunged.

Another optic blast shot at Logan, and he barely managed to dodge it.

Scott tried to lock in on Logan with another optic blast but before he could get a fix, the feral mutant hopped over the remnants of the French windows.

Scott took a step back just out of Logan's reach, fingers still on his visor. He now had a clean shot of the feral mutant.

But Logan was quicker; he moved forward, fist pulled back, and in a blur of speed, threw a right hook. It connected with Scott's jaw. He distinctly heard bone crack. The sound sent a ripple of smug satisfaction down his spine. The corner of his mouth curved in a semblance of a grin as he watched Scott Summers fall sideways. Reflexively the claws shot out from between his knuckles.

The anger in him was just beginning to subside. _If Fearless Leader had any sense left he'd stay down, things could get ugly in six different ways if he didn't. _A snide remark about hitting geeks with glasses was about to roll off his tongue, when the hairs on his back rose.

The only warning Logan got was the sensation of being tossed in a vacuum with dead air collecting around him. The air solidified into a hurtling force that caught him squarely in the chest - again. It sent him airborne across the lawn. This time he landed on his back, and skidded. He came to a halt underneath the ancient oak tree, and realized he was in the exact spot he'd landed on earlier.

He sat up, with a snarl. _Who the fuck declared it 'Toss the Wolverine day'?_

Jean looked straight at him from where Scott had been standing, her green eyes devoid of sympathy. She then bent down and disappeared from view. She reappeared with Scott, his right arm slung across her shoulders while her left arm supported him from the back. She assisted her husband without sparing him a backward glance.

Logan's eyes narrowed, as he watched them. He gritted his teeth and his fists tightened till his knuckles were bone white, the sharp points of his claws almost breaking skin. He felt his face burn.

Rogue and Jubilee, both still in their pajamas, ran across the lawn to his aid. But he was already getting on his feet and dusting himself.

"You okay Logan?" Rogue asked her gloved hand touching his shoulder.

Overhead the first rumble of thunder sounded in the distance. Logan could already smell the rain.

"Yeah, nothin' a cup of coffee can't fix." He managed a grin, and started walking back to the Mansion. The two girls silently trailed after him. _Round one might be over but this fight sure as hell wasn't... not by a long shot._ If he's lucky he might be able to throw in another punch so he can dislocate the other side of Fearless Leader's jaw. He always had a thing about symmetry.

XXX

"Can you open your mouth?"

"Yes, only by this much." And Scott showed her. He was seated on the examining table in the Medical Bay.

Jean sighed. "Well it's definitely dislocated. I'll take an x-ray later to see if there are any fractures. In the meantime I'll give you an anesthetic and a muscle relaxant so I can do a closed reduction." She took a syringe from the treatment tray, and drew back its plunger, took off the protective cap and plunged the needle into an inverted vial of clear liquid. She injected air into the vial and then began to aspirate.

"English Jean," Scott said. It was a badly executed attempt to make the statement sound light and teasing.

Jean frowned. "Means I'm going to give you a pain reliever and a muscle relaxant so I can fix the dislocation. Push back, so the back of your head is against the wall."

Scott nodded.

She slipped on white rubber gloves. Jean then busied herself with palpating his jaw then ripping open an alcohol swab. With the swab, she began wiping in small, outward circular motions in the area she intended to inject the medication.

"Jean-"

"After I inject you with the medications, you'll have to open your mouth." She sounded cool, detached and professional. The tone she uses with patients. "I'll slide in my thumbs all the way to the back of your jaw, you're going to feel a slight pressure when I push down. Any questions?" Not the usual way she would have spoken to Scott, but then again a quarrel was never brewing between them especially when she had to perform a medical procedure on him at the same time.

"Look, I'm sorry," Scott said finally.

"What were you thinking?" Jean's voice was sharp; she stabbed the needle in his jaw.

Scott visibly flinched as the needle pierced his skin. He waited for Jean to withdraw the needle before he spoke. "I said I was sorry."

"You should be saying that to Logan." She threw the used syringe in the metal treatment tray. It landed with a loud clang.

"I was apologizing for how I acted last night." He gingerly rubbed his face where Jean had just injected him. "I'm not sorry for what I did to Logan."

Jean started to consider deferring the closed reduction on Scott's jaw, maybe, just maybe he'll put a little more thought in what he'll say before he opens his mouth. "I'm pretty sure you're in pain, so you really shouldn't be talking so much."

Scott's head shot up at her. Even behind those rubied visors she could feel the glare. _Fine_, he telepathically replied through their psylink. He folded his arms across his chest.

"Open your mouth Scott."

He obeyed.

It occurred to Jean, as she slid her thumbs all the way to the back of Scott's jaw, he could very well bite down on her, as long as they were being infantile about this whole fight. She pushed down and back, and felt the familiar give that meant the jaw had locked back in place. She stepped back and pulled off the gloves.

"Thanks." Scott began moving his jaw side to side. "It was getting difficult to talk."

_You have no idea. _Jean didn't reply and threw the gloves in a black bin.

"I've decided after this mess is fixed, Logan can go." Scott continued, his voice firm and decisive.

_What is that supposed to mean? _"Do you realize Rachel saw the entire thing? Do you even care how badly she's behaving towards Logan? And after this how do you think she's going to start treating him?"

"It doesn't matter because he's not going to be around my family anymore."

_This is his answer to the fight upstairs? Unbelievable._ "Are you going to tell me that Logan started this whole fight? Because I'm pretty sure he didn't throw himself out on the lawn."

"He was going to stab me! Or did you forget the part where you had to toss him out on the lawn too."

Seeing Logan standing over Scott with his claws and Betsy's words still fresh in her mind kicked Jean's telekinesis into action. Irrational fear took over what she knew in her heart to be true - "The claws were a reflex, he would never -"

"Jean, what will it take for you to realize Logan is dangerous?"

She knew where this conversation was going, and she would not agree to any of it. She would state her stand in this matter and that would be it."We are not throwing out Logan because of the broken windows!"

"What windows?" His voice raised an octave higher with unmistakable irritation.

_What windows? Really? _Was he trying for the amnesia excuse? Because he had to be blind. _Yes, blind!_ To not see the disaster area that used to be the French windows. Jean opened her mouth, ready to raise hell. Paused. And realized at that very instant they were talking about two different messes. "What do you mean by 'mess'? What are you talking about?"

"This mess!" He pounded his fist into the leather cushion of the examining table. "This mess with Logan's list!"

"I don't -"

Scott didn't even seem to be listening to Jean. "Logan had no right to withhold information, he knew it would put us all in jeopardy." He ran his fingers through his sweat-matted hair. " I should have seen this coming a mile off!" He was rambling, and it was making her scared.

"Scott!"

His attention returned to Jean.

"What happened?"

Although Jean couldn't see his eyes, she could feel his apprehension thorough their psylink. His lips twitched as if trying to force the words out. But he couldn't. Couldn't.

"Scott," she touched his hand, and her voice was gentler, softer. But she could still hear the barest hint of a tremor in it. "Tell me what happened."

"I didn't know, Jean." His voice, quiet almost apologetic; he swallowed. "I faxed Forge a copy of Logan's list and -" he trailed off, shaking his head.

Jean squeezed his hand, encouraging him to go on.

Scott swallowed twice, his lips twisting. "Hank called, he said the American Embassy in Pretoria informed him about an incident in Cape Town involving two US citizens."

"Ororo and Forge?"

Scott nodded. "'Ro is in critical condition, undergoing emergency Exploratory Laparotomy as we speak while Forge… Forge is still missing. The place they were staying in was razed to the ground. Jean?"

Somewhere in the middle of Scott's revelation, Jean let go of his hand, and started backing away from him_. What Scott was saying couldn't be true. It couldn't be them. It had to be a mistake. A mistake!_ The world began to spin, she felt her legs give. But she was caught by strong arms. She took in a shaky breath, recognizing the scent of cigars, and earth. Before she could protest, Logan was leading her to the nearest chair to sit in.

Scott was on his feet, his hands curled tightly into fists.

Logan straightened up, his face unreadable. He stood perfectly still beside Jean.

The only sound in the Medical Bay was the low electrical hum of the white fluorescent lights overhead. Before either of them could speak, Scott's mobile phone rang. It took two more rings before Scott managed to fish it out of his pocket. His eyes, though concealed behind rubied visors, never left Logan. "Hank? Yeah, I can talk now. Give me details while I walk to the office." He was already moving out of the Medical Bay.

"You heard." Jean said, when they were alone. Her voice sounded hollow, she looked straight ahead.

"Yes."

Jean looked up at him, green eyes glistening with tears threatening to spill. "I don't understand. You knew the list would put us in danger."

"No. Jean." Logan's right hand opened hovering over her shoulder, almost as if unsure if he should touch her. "I would never do that to the X-men – or you."

Jean suddenly got up from the chair. She slowly walked towards the examination table, her back turned to Logan. She spread her hands on its surface, then slowly slipped her fingers on the edge and gripped the table, her knuckles white. She screwed her eyes shut, her chest burning, her veins filled with venomous poison. She could feel her skin thrumming with power.

Jean sucked in a breath. Held it. Her telekinesis lashed out. Flung the treatment table with its contents across the room. It hit the wall with a loud crash. Then all the steel cabinets in the room started to tremble threatening to follow the treatment table in its same trajectory and eventual demise.

"Jean?" Concern filled Logan's voice this time.

The whole room began to shake as if hit by an earthquake.

"Jeannie," His voice had an edge of fear. "Darlin' talk to me."

Sound of Logan's voice was fueling the rage, she wanted to hurt him, blame him for putting her dearest friend - her sister at death's door. The pressure of her telekinesis building up inside her, ready to lash out at him… but she couldn't.

Logan slowly walked to her, his hands open before him just like his mind was to her. To show her that he intended no harm. "Jean it's gonna be okay, just -" He closed the distance between them, and slowly pulled her in his arms.

The shaking of the room ceased. Silence.

Jean's shoulders sagged, her body slumped against Logan. And then she began to cry.

Logan held her up. His lips were against the shell of her ear. His rough and gravelly voice softened to a whisper. Close and warm as a caress. "It's alright Jean. I'm gonna fix this, I'm not going anywhere until this is all sorted out. I promise."

Jean felt safe and protected in Logan's arms, like she always had, as if time hadn't changed anything between them. His embrace stirring feelings she believed she'd long forgotten. She wanted so much to believe him. But she knew she had to untangle her heart from the deceptive allure of the promise in his words. She could not trust him.

She didn't need the power of telepathy to know beyond the shadow of a doubt Logan was lying.


End file.
